


Perhaps this is War

by Libertica



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Blood, Mentions of dismembered limbs, The act of going deaf, Violence, Vomiting, Written in 2nd person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:38:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Libertica/pseuds/Libertica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This wasn't how it was supposed to go. He was to continue with this job. But sometimes fate has other decisions on hand. And apparently he was the perfect candidate for this one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Perhaps this is War

**Author's Note:**

> This is a small short story concerning how my OC Demoman reacts to getting his hearing taken from him, and how he handles it. Kind of quickly written, not all that much in it tbh. But it works for now!

Perhaps this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. You could easily have avoided that shot, could have run to the left instead of the right, taken the tunnel in the sewers instead of running over the bridge. But what was done was done, despite the circumstances you found yourself in. But it was your own fault, for not listening to that gut feeling that wrenched around your stomach, its tendrils poking and propping around, causing an uncomfortable feeling of something. Consideration. Despair. Regret.

In just a second everything had turned dark for you. Or was it light? You couldn’t exactly remember. But one thing was for certain. Something had blinded you, taken away your sight for a few seconds and left you vulnerable on the battlefield, rockets and bullets flying around your teetering form, so very close to collapsing. Something wet dripped down from your ear. Wet and slimy and warm and oh so uncomfortable. But you paid no attention to that, your body in shock with a wide chocolate eye open wide in a surge of panic. You lowered yourself to the ground, one dark hand desperately clutching at the wall in the enemy base. It wasn’t the best area, but you quite frankly didn’t think much of it.

Chaos continued around you, footsteps hammering on floor boards and splashing around in water, dust rising at the mere actions of the appendages landing on the ground. But that didn’t worry you, slowly crumbling to the ground as pain slowly began to grow in your head. Your uniform slowly began to get a tint of red to it, the liquid seeping from your ears running down your neck and throat, getting into the fabric. The turtleneck under the Kevlar went from a sky blue to a muddy red. Several patches on your cheeks had already begun to dry up. Was it blood? You didn’t really care. Your mutton chops did a good job in catching most of it, the coarse hair getting sticky.

A single unfocused eyed glanced at the dirty ground, then at your very own legs. Had they always been this long? Always been this dusty? The muscle in your mouth surged out to dap at your crusty lips, catching small amounts of sand. It still didn’t taste the best, but what did you expect?

Shaking, you tried to get up on your legs but it proved to be futile as you just fell again, this time landing hard on your knees. A sharp gasp left your lips, your knees aching. This shouldn’t be so hard, you reasoned with yourself. It wasn’t this hard earlier today. But then again, earlier today you didn’t have a splitting headache with an insufferable pain in your ears, nor did your vision swim as you just glanced around. Nor did you have nausea, the mere action of sinking down spit nearly causing you to hurl over yourself. But perhaps that would have been a good choice. But the ever present fear of that god awful taste made you try your hardest to keep the liquid that most likely was alcohol and the rest of the cereal in your stomach. 

Finally, after trying for several minutes to get up on your boot clad legs, with swimming vision and shaking limbs, you did it. But not without a price. You felt it. Something that made tears fall from your one good eye and down over your cheek, something made your lips tremble. Something that made an unholy scream tear from your vocal cords, the sound filled with pain and agony and horror.

You clutched at your head, the small beanie resting upon your head and hair sliding of and falling to the ground. You stumbled around, closing your eye and whimpering at everything. It felt like everything outside had stopped. You couldn’t hear them anymore, too lost in your own world of misery and pain.

But you had to move forwards. With darkness clouding in just the edge of your vision, you wished for respawn to just take you. It would be easier. Why weren’t you dead yet? Why hadn’t any of the opposite faction caught you? What had happened for no one to notice you in the enemy’s base, caught up in shock against a wall with a scorched mark a few meters away from your bloodied form? 

You hurled as soon as you saw a leg before you, what could have been seen as cereal dribbling down your chin and splashing against the cement of the floor. It wasn’t anything new. If anything, you should have gotten used to it. Strewn limbs and intestines across the battlefield were but a small downside to working for those old men. 

The stench of vomit surrounded you and a few tears slipped from the corner of your right eye. God, how you hated this. The pain in your head, the taste in your mouth, the aching in your knees and the agony that surrounded you in metaphorical haze. You wanted it gone. It was nearly before you wished for a Scout or a Heavy, or better yet a Spy to just kill you so you wouldn’t have to suffer through this anymore. But yet, luck just wasn’t on your side today.

Rounding a corner you saw your team just outside of the building made up of complete cement - while you walked out of the building made up of wood - , all of whom according to you looked better than yourself. Clean, like the just got out of respawn. Some with smiles on their faces who looked like they had seen better days. You thought to yourself that you’d rather have been there instead of back in the enemy’s base. 

The youngest caught your eye and he bound towards you. Or at least, that was before he caught a sight of your poor situation. You knew you looked like literal shit. Vomit over your entire front, crusty blood making your face look like the rest of the battlefield around you, and clothes that had seen may better days. A complete train wreck. You tried to give a smile but fell forwards instead, the black haze at the edge of your eye slowly but surely coating the rest of your sight.

It was only when your sight was gone and you were on the brink of passing out that you realized you hadn’t heard a thing despite them seemingly talking loudly.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You awoke in the infirmary. A single bleary eye of yours opened but shut tightly at the light above your head. Once it disappeared you slowly opened your eye once more only to get a look at the Medic of your team, his mouth set in a straight line. You could almost call it a scowl but didn’t say anything. You had nothing to say. You tried to sit up, tried being the keyword, and fell back on the uncomfortable hospital bed with a grunt. Your body ached, more than it ever had before. The feeling of left over drugs was still in your system, making your head slower and thought process destroyed.

You saw his lips move, but no words left them. You furrowed your brows, the small dark brown hairs moving to match your facial expression of distress. Why did he move them but no sound came out?

“I- I can’t hear ye’.”

The Medic pursed his lips before a moment of realization crossed his face. Instead a single red digit was held up to your eye in the universal sign of ‘Please wait’, something you at least could understand. So you gave a nod, wincing as the remnant of pain surged through your skull. You bit you lip, trying your hardest to not feel the pain in your head. But it was easier said than done.

First when the Medic returned did you stop biting your lip. You were confused. So very confused. Your internal questions got answered as the other man held up a whiteboard, the edges dusty and dirty with left over marker spots. It seemed like it hadn’t been used for ages. 

“Ah, Doc’. Ye’ don’t need tha’! Ye’ can just talk to me!” you said with a slight head tilt. There was no need for all of those boards when the doctor could just talk to you. But you got a shake of the head as a reply instead. 

Why was that? You got the reply in the form of a quickly scribbled message on the board.

‘That’s not the problem, Demoman.’

Then what was the problem? You voiced your question, heavily accented and absolutely confused. There weren’t any problems after all. So why all the fuss? He was fine, he could leave. The Medic could just give him something for the aches and headache like usually did. After all, he had been down here many times before. What was the problem this time?

“I don’t understand-“

You never got to finish your sentence before you were silenced by a look by the Medic. Glove clad hands flew over the whiteboard quickly before the Medic turned the board to face you once more.

‘You’re discharged.’

As an afterthought the man with the tie wrote a bit more. Ah, if only you knew it was the finishing blow. 

‘You’re discharged. Permanently.’

You understood. And you panicked. What were you to do after this? What were there for you out there? You couldn’t be fired. You were useful! They needed you! You, the only one who knew how to truly use the grenade launcher and the sticky bombs, the one who came up with a marvelous fashion of different explosives. Useful. That’s what you were. And they needed you. They couldn’t just magically find a new mercenary with your amount of knowledge. 

You shakily brought yourself up, resting on your elbows. Your single useable eye widened as words flew fro your mouth.

“But Medic! I - Ye’ can’t!”

But it never really was his decision. He was just the one to find out what were wrong with you. He was just the bringer of bad news. The ever looming dread hung around him. But the doctor had gotten used to it. After all, you can’t be a healer without having to be a bearer of horrible news. It was in the job description. And he had gotten used to it.

With a quick flick of his wrist he erased the message and wrote once more. And oh, how the message hurt you. Right down to your very core.

‘There’s no use for a deaf Demoman. I'm sorry, Lachlan.’

That was it. That was why you couldn’t hear anything. And you understood. There was no use for a deaf Demoman. You would be an easier target. The spy would have problems with getting to you. You understood, but didn’t want to believe.

Perhaps this was war. Perhaps this was how it had meant to pay you. But you sure as hell wouldn’t let it.


End file.
